


The Promise Of A Man So Foreign

by Pink_and_Velvet



Category: Tombstone (1993)
Genre: Admiration, Drinking, F/M, First Kiss, Gambling, Mystery, Saloons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 08:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19764259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: The man was mystifying. There was something about him, that provoked such a sensuous aura. She watched him in awe, of the guns he wore, the coins he rolled, the hands he won.





	The Promise Of A Man So Foreign

The man was mystifying. There was something about him, that provoked such a sensuous aura. In the tease of his lips and the promise of his fingers. He swiftly took a seat at the table, coins rolling up and down his knuckles, another alluring routine that no man could follow. He swigged his drink, coins still dancing, not breaking the rhythm as more men surrounded him. The bar shook with laughter and yells, the obvious tell of who had become victorious that night. It was the same man. The man with the pasty skin so light, it appeared almost transparent. It was a colour like no other yet, the man made it work. His eyes were tinted with green from one side, hazel from another. The red rings that perhaps were tiredness, only seemed to brighten the whites even more.

She took a seat at the bar as a man whispered something, not at all romantic or subtle, in her left ear. Her attention never left the man at the poker table, he had just removed his hat and unveiled beautifully slick back golden hair, perfectly combed with a perfect curl dropping into his eyes. She remained almost still, awaiting the man at her side to leave her in a huff, move onto one of the other girls and redeem himself.

She couldn’t be sure but maybe, just maybe, the mysterious blonde had seen her. Their eyes locked and his own explored her sitting form. The curve of her spine, her exposed collar bone and neck. Her hair was in perfect ringlets, cascading down from her bun. The feathers she wore with such little pride.

The man looked away again, she could tell another game was about to start. The barman yelled to her so, she began her usual routine of seducing those around her for a tip that night. Although this time, her heart was far from in it. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the pale man, with the tantalising eyes and, as she drew herself closer, his moustache was styled without fault. He was clean shaven which, in comparison to plenty of the men that hounded her here, was a lovely change. She could tell that he took great pride in the way he carried himself; presentation was key for the ladies here to find their companion.

Another man sidled up on her side, with a fresh cup of cheap whiskey she so rightfully declined. He spoke with such a gruff tone, loud and irritating but again, her eyes wandered over to the mysterious poker man. He was doing well, he’d claimed another hand. A small part of her tingled with admiration at that prospect.

Out of the corner of her eye, he noticed the man had a piercing gaze. It again roamed all over her. Now standing, she ever so slightly cocked her hips out, with a sinful role so minute, it was a private show. Her eyes were heavily lidded and her lips parted. She ran one gloved hand across her chest and over her own neck, a smooth touch that meant she could turn her gaze to him.

Their eyes locked and all sounds of accusation, insult and all round animosity of the usual crowd at the saloon was dulled. Forgotten. The man didn’t even seem to realise he was being challenged, over what she wasn’t sure. Perhaps the hand, he’d won. There never really were any trustworthy customers here.

What she did understand was the slow, almost cautious way he rose to his feet. She gasped at his belt, two pistols. One on each hip. They gleamed in a strange cream colour, she had never seen such impressive pistols before. She decided, the man was definitely rich and he must’ve made something of himself to own such prized possessions. She watched with intent, as the man slipped on his coat. Hiding what appeared to be such a thin frame, a scarily thin frame hidden under the poise of a thick and embroidered golden waistcoat.

Collecting his winnings, her eyes followed his hands. He seemed to let the moment linger, hands pausing in the midst of the pile of bills, almost a tease. Her eyes found his again, she hadn’t noticed that his piercing gaze hadn’t left her surely flushed face. One long, skilled finger tipped his hat down as he said his goodbyes.

His hands appeared with an intriguing feminine-like quality. They promised the touch of caution, a well thought out process. They promised the touch of excitement, maybe even something unpredictable.

In one hand the man clutched some twenty dollar bills. In the other, his fingers enclosed themselves around the neck of a bottle. She recognised it instantly, it was expensive. A luxury in the eyes of such a woman, she’d never had someone who would let such a taste grace her lips. Without word the man approached her and all fell silent. He was her singular focus, the presence of him too strong for anyone else to distract or pull her from her moment. Her hands brushed his as he leant the bottle forward, she swigged it and coughed a little. He chuckled slightly, sounding rich. As though his voice was cut from a strange silk cloth so foreign and new. She looked down, flushed, as his words were immediately interrupted. He coughed some, a harsh sound that almost made her forget the beauty she had just heard, almost. She glanced back up to his face; the sweat that coated his forehead, the handkerchief surrounding his lips. She hadn’t noticed until his hands returned to their sides, just how pale his lips were. How inviting and prominent they appeared to be.

His southern drawl was incredible. She already knew he was highly educated, with what must be a promising future ahead of him. With such skilled hands, such a skilled head. The man heaved out another cough into his hand and took back his bottle. Washing down the next bout of coughing, she figured.

She felt a sudden high, the air restricting them as he touched her. Her knuckles were caressed by such plush lips. He truly was a gentleman. Lips speaking all the promise he couldn’t bring himself to say to her, not yet. She rose to her feet, hand in his hand. With a confident stride, she led the man to the back of the saloon, up the stairs and past a long trail of doors.

She blew out the candles surrounding her unmade bed. Lying herself out atop it, she invited the curious man to undo her corset. His soft hands ran through her brown locks, letting them fall to settle on her shoulders. He climbed over her with such grace, chests pressed together. She couldn’t resist those lips hovering so close to hers, she craned her neck up and finally, finally she had the man in a gentle brush of mouths. Her hands trailed up and down the lean form of him, he shook himself out of his coat and let it drop to the floor. She hadn’t noticed until that moment, the man panting and flushed; how much he dripped in desire, with a raw animalistic need. She needed this man to consume her, to care for her. To respect her for the night.

Even if it was just tonight, she’d let this incredible man take care of her with the promise of such passion and adoration. Mr Holliday would caress all parts of her, lighting sparks out of both a thrill and of need. It couldn’t just be tonight, she decided.


End file.
